Politics
by corneroffandom
Summary: Wade doesn't take too kindly to Heath's advice.


Wade Barrett knows he's probably stepping on fragile ground here, discussing politics on Twitter, but he feels entitled to his opinion, even if he knows as he types it all out that he's probably taking it a little far, the higher ups in WWE frowning on such things, especially in a product more determined to be family friendly. His tweet is far from that, thanks to some of the colorful language within it... Nonetheless, as he presses the _send_ button, he doesn't feel any regret.

That is, until Heath Slater drops down heavily next to him, waving his phone in front of the Brit's eyes, his last tweet blurring left to right. "Whad'ya think you're doin', man? Do you _want_ a lecture from WWE higher ups? Eh?"

Wade huffs out a faint breath, definitely not in the mood to listen to Heath right this moment. "What's it to you, Slater?"

The bright haired man shrugs. "Nothing really, just don't want you sent to the office over this. That kinda thing sucks, so..." They sit there in silence, Barrett continuing to look unimpressed as Heath stares at him, sun gleaming through the hotel window and across his face, making his sincere expression hard to ignore. "Why not just reword that last tweet? I mean, that's a little-"

"Please, Slater," he scoffs. "The WWE's made a big deal out of freedom of speech, especially with this Swagger and Colter nonsense, and I can't state my opinion on twitter about British politics without receiving grief on all sides?"

Heath stares at him, lips twisting uncomfortably. "I understand, man, it's just you know how the company is- we hafta watch what we say 'cause of the kiddies and BA Star. You can still keep the... tweet's meaning in tact without really tellin' everyone to f-"

"You telling me about watching what I say," he scoffs derisively before standing up and trying to walk off. "Don't make me laugh, Slater."

"Wait a minute," he snaps, reaching out to stop his former leader. It all escalates quickly, he's just barely grazed the other man's arm when Wade spins around and pushes him off, eyes flaming with anger and disgust. Heath, never one to back down from a fight, pushes back, only making the Brit angrier until- his fist swings out and contacts with the side of Slater's face, sending him down immediately, just missing a nearby chair. Heath gapes up at him, blood dripping down his cheek as he shakes his head, for once speechless.

Wade glowers down at him, not showing even an inch of visible regret or hesitation, and Heath gingerly touches his face, brushing the blood off of his skin as he struggles to his feet, stumbling slightly over his own shoes. "Jackass," he hisses, pushing past the taller Brit and storming out onto the balcony to have some time to himself, slamming the glass doors so hard that they rattle.

Huffing, the angered Brit glares at the wall, conflicting emotions warring within him. On one hand, he's glad that Slater's taken himself out of the situation so he can't say or do anything else that will blind Wade with rage, but on the other, he wishes he had something physical to focus his anger on right now. He's still standing there when his phone rings. Slater's words of warning return to him before he even pulls the cell out, sensing who'll be on the line before he even gets it out of his pocket. _WWE Co_ flashes back at him and he releases a faint groan before answering. "Hello."

He stands there, very still, very quiet, unwilling to look out at the balcony and watch Heath do whatever it is he's doing, while one of the many WWE higher ups lecture him on proper public attitudes, ending with a warning that they might make him go through what many WWE superstars had labeled the dreaded _Twitter school_ again if he continues on like this. His lips tight, he accesses his twitter account midway through the lecture and deletes the tweet, quickly typing up a reworded version that simply says if his views aren't liked, _unfollow him_. It's not at all what he would ever want to say to the many people who'd lambasted him for his earlier words, but for once... to his extreme displeasure, Heath was right. He groans and shakes his head, not even wanting to imagine what the younger man will have to say to him if he ever comes off of the balcony.

Never the type to let things fester, just wanting to get it over with, he pushes the doors open and leans against the frame, staring out at the ginger as he continues to ignore him. "Just so you know, you were right," he forces out, arms crossed over his chest as he stares out at him.

Heath's shoulders tense up a bit more. "No kiddin'?" he asks dully, staring down at his phone, where a text alert about the revised tweet is.

Wade huffs, no one able to annoy him _or_ make him feel as guilty all at once quite as well as Heath Slater. With a grimace, he walks onto the balcony and grips Heath's shoulder, trying to turn him around. "Stop being stubborn," he grunts when the younger man all but plants his feet, determined not to move from his quiet vigil over the city. "Look at me." Finally Heath stops resisting, eyes filled with some sort of a challenge as he's turned to face Wade, but the Brit says nothing, anything he might have wanted to spit out quickly leaving him as he catches a good look at his former teammate's face. Of the rapidly spreading bruise midway down his cheek to his jaw, following the slight stain of blood that'd been only half-heartedly smeared away. "Bloody hell," he mutters without thinking.

Heath still remains uncharacteristically silent, even as Wade leaves him, re-entering the hotel room and shuffling around in there. When he returns, he has a towel wrapped around ice and he ignores Heath's vague inhale as he presses it to the swelling bruise under his eye. They sit there like that for a bit, Heath watching through one eye as Wade looks anywhere but at him. Finally his curiosity leaves him needing to ask: "How much trouble ya in?"

"They didn't say." He continues to hold the towel to the younger man's skin and shrugs. "Don't worry about it, it's my issue to deal with."

Heath mutters something that sounds like "Duh" but neither man acknowledge it beyond that, Wade pulling the ice away to look closer at the discoloration of his face. "Will makeup be able to cover it before the night's event, do you think?" he mutters, eyes flickering to rest on Wade's expression as he brushes the remaining flakes of dried blood away.

"Wouldn't hurt to ask, I guess," the Brit mutters, glancing once more at the damage he'd done to the other man's face. He cringes vaguely, shaking his head. Everything he should say, _would_ say, seems to be stuck in his throat and he sighs, but Heath doesn't seem to mind, taking the ice pack from him and walking into the hotel room, checking himself in the mirror. Wade just watches as he continues on with his day, things slowly returning to normal as he talks on and on through the process, not bothered by Barrett's silence. As always.

Upon arriving at the arena, Wade gets another stern lecture- and a revised threat about _Twitter school_ again- but nothing serious comes from it. In fact, he wins back his Intercontinental title that night and it's with a smug grin later on that he rests it on the bedside table between his and Heath's hotel beds, the ginger already fast asleep in his. When he looks up, however, the grin fades a bit when he catches sight of the bruise that's only begun to look worse in the passing hours. He sighs and kneels down by the bed, knowing that Heath sleeps too deeply to be woke up by anything quieter than one of those zombie outbreaks he constantly talks about finding ways to survive. He shakes his head, looking down at his fist, before peering back at the other man. "I am sorry, Ginger. You _were_ only trying to help me... I reacted poorly. I guess sometimes I forget that I'm not your leader anymore, and you're not wrong _all_ the time..." He smirks and stands, turning back to his own half of the room. "Good night."

He's barely taken a step when Heath mumbles, each word slurred with exhaustion, "S'ok. Night, Brit." He smiles, shaking his head as he begins to unmake his bed so he can try for a couple of hours of sleep himself.


End file.
